Although Denoriel cried out in protest against Aleneil's prediction that Anne would die, his sister had Seen true. He did not realize then, that the clarity of the Vision was owing to its imminence. They thought they would have time; Seeings were only possibilities and by actions could be changed. Denoriel did try to warn George Boleyn, offering to help with money if he would leave England.
Obviously he could not tell George that his sister had had a Seeing, but George was only annoyed with him, pointing out haughtily that he could not leave his sister when so many harpies gathered to tear at her flesh. But George could do little to control her. All through April, Anne alternately raged and laughed; she seemed to have lost all balance and it was clear she knew that many were pressing the king to be rid of her. And then she made a fatal mistake.
It began simply enough when Anne began to chide Henry Norris for not completing his marriage to Margaret Shelton, a cousin of Anne's. FitzRoy, who happened to be near, made a jest of men desiring not to answer to a wife, but Anne only irritably waved him silent. Clearly she suspected that Norris did not want to make a commitment to her cousin because of the campaign against her. Norris denied, tried to make some light remark, which only infuriated Anne further.
"You," she cried, oblivious to far too many heads turned in her direction, "you look for dead men's shoes; for if aught came to the king but good you would look to have me!"
"Anne!" FitzRoy gasped.
Her eyes widened and her lips parted, likely to change the words into some jest or excuse them, but Norris was so horrified that his voice overrode hers, crying that if he had ever had such a thought, he would rather his head was off.
And that it was on the seventeenth of May. Considering the many factions that wanted Anne repudiated, it was no surprise that Cromwell had news of Anne's outburst and Norris's response. Cromwell, amazed at the accuracy of Master Otstargi's prediction—although he had not been specific about what mistake Anne would make—went right to the king with an accusation of Anne's infidelity, and he had half the court as witnesses to support him.
Even FitzRoy was forced to repeat what he had heard, although he tried to insist that it was half jest and half temper—something the king should know well about Anne. He was dismissed with angry words, dismissed from the court entirely for his attempted defense. And by the time the week was out, five men had been arrested for adultery with Anne and she, herself, was in the Tower.
"Evidence" was found, trials were held with indecent haste, and every man—including, incredibly, Anne's brother George—was found guilty. Whether the judges actually believed the verdict they gave—Norfolk was weeping when he pronounced it—no one would ever know, but Anne and her "lovers" were sentenced to die, and so they did, the men on the seventeenth, Anne herself on the nineteenth.
FitzRoy was ordered—perhaps as a punishment for his attempt to defend Anne—to attend the beheading. At first he said he would defy his father and absent himself; however, on the seventeenth of May, Anne's marriage to Henry had been declared null and void and Elizabeth was declared a bastard. FitzRoy had to go to the Tower, had to speak one last time to Anne to assure her that he would care for Elizabeth and protect her, as long as they both should live.
His attendance at the execution was now necessary. To refuse—in King Henry's present mood—would be dangerous, even to his son. FitzRoy saw, at least, that Anne did not suffer. She was praying quietly when she laid her head on the block, and the stroke that ended her life was sure and swift.
"That was a piece of work very well done," Aurilia nic Morrigan said, smiling at Pasgen. "It was as if those fools of the Bright Court were our lackeys." Aurilia giggled softly, her green eyes bright with amusement. "Imagine them arranging for the dog's death! I could not have done it better myself."
Pasgen, who stood beside Rhoslyn before Aurilia and Vidal Dhu, who occupied a pair of magnificent gold-wrought chairs in a private, red-walled chamber in Caer Mordwyn, bowed slightly.
"You also manipulated that servant of the king—Cromwell, is that his name?—very well indeed. No one will ever suspect our role in bringing down the queen."
The words were complimentary, the tone was not. Pasgen wondered whether Vidal Dhu was as unaware as he seemed of the ability of others to read him or whether the subtle insults were designed to expose opposition.
"Thank you," Pasgen said. "And the quick declaration of Elizabeth as a bastard ensures that the child will be of no interest to anyone very soon. We will be free to take her whenever we like."
"I would not be so sure of that." Vidal's lips twisted in scorn and he shifted in the taller of the two chairs. "So far you have been remarkably unsuccessful in seizing anything the Seleighe wish to keep. The FarSeers tell me they still See a possibility of a future bound to that blasted child. I am sure those of the liosalfar receive the same Vision and may think it worthwhile to guard her."
"That is true," Pasgen said. "And beside that the boy FitzRoy—" an unpleasant memory, a memory of FitzRoy's grim face as he shot down a Sidhe, made him grimace "—no, I must not forget he is a boy no longer, and he is most unnaturally attached to the little girl. Moreover, what FitzRoy wants, Denoriel wants."
"And what Denoriel wants, Aleneil wants," Rhoslyn added.
Vidal waved a hand dismissively. "The child is no longer an adorable baby. I think FitzRoy will soon tire of her willful ways. We can wait."
Aurilia shook her head. "No, my lord, we cannot. Possibly FitzRoy will tire of her, but by then she may be useless to us. Remember that she is absorbing stupid mortal values with each day she is in her governesses' care. We can make any mortal obedient by breaking its spirit, but that is useless in this case. She needs the full range of her mind and heart to be able to dream of power and the ways to use it and to bring others under our hand."
Rhoslyn's eyebrows twitched—Pasgen thought it was in patent disbelief at that statement. It seemed that Aurilia knew what Elizabeth was by her reaction to their demon spies, and probably Rhoslyn could not accept the idea that Aurilia would welcome another attractive female with as strong a Talent as Elizabeth displayed with free will within Vidal Dhu's household. Even to Rhoslyn it must seem that to leave Elizabeth entirely in possession of her will might be dangerous. Pagen wondered what scheme was working in the back of Aurilia's mind.
Vidal, however, had nodded and shrugged, saying, "Oh, I am willing to take her as soon as Rhoslyn has made an adequate changeling."
"Two weeks, perhaps three," Rhoslyn said, "but I think no more than two."
A black frown replaced the bland expression on Vidal's face. "It took you months to create the changeling that was supposed to take FitzRoy's place," he snapped. "How does it come about that this changeling will take only two weeks?"
Rhoslyn's lips thinned. Pasgen suspected that there was still a small sore place in her heart where FitzRoy's changeling had lived. All she said, however, was, "You wanted that changeling to live for some weeks at least and be able to pass for the living child. A boy of six, already taught several languages and the history of his family . . . If he suddenly no longer knew those things surely a replacement would be suspected. I had to teach him. I had to instill enough power in him to keep him alive. I—" Her voice was rising.
Pasgen put a hand on her arm and she fell silent. "This child is clever," he said, but to Vidal Dhu, not to his sister, "but she is not yet three years old. If the changeling can walk and talk about common things, it will be enough."
Aurilia nodded. "Yes, and the dullness of the changeling will doubtless be thought owing to confusion and missing her mother if we take the child soon. Two weeks seems about right to me."
"Very well," Vidal agreed.
"So," Aurilia said, "Pasgen and Rhoslyn should be able to manage this abduction on their own. The household will still be in considerable confusion, and I think almost all of the guards and many of the servants will have been dismissed or assigned elsewhere. And Pasgen and Rhoslyn are so accustomed to the mortal world that this should be easy for them."
Beneath his hand, Pasgen felt his sister shiver. Elizabeth was less important, but she was still the king's child. To send Pasgen and her alone to take her was a prescription for failure, possibly a disastrous failure. Could Aurilia want the child dead? Fortunately before she could protest, Vidal Dhu turned toward his lovely companion.
"No, I think not." Vidal Dhu smiled slowly. "Perhaps Pasgen's and Rhoslyn's many failures at abduction were owing to bad luck, but they nearly brought the wrath of King Oberon down on us. I wish to have something to show for our effort this time. I think this time you and I, Aurilia, should accompany them to make sure, not only that no more bad luck occurs but also that the child does not slip through our hands into some private domain."
"That was never intended," Pasgen said, trying to sound indignant, although it was difficult because he was ready to grin with relief.
He certainly did not want Elizabeth, and he thought it better that Rhoslyn should not even think about keeping the child. Rhoslyn had been . . . different . . . since she had made and lost FitzRoy's changeling.
Moreover, Pasgen had not been sure until Vidal said he and Aurilia would accompany them to seize Elizabeth that the prince still wanted the child—and he was still not sure why he wanted her. Of course, Vidal might have been seduced by Aurilia's vision of what Elizabeth could accomplish, but usually Vidal was shockingly lacking in a long vision of the future. Mostly his purposes were immediate. And now that Elizabeth had been declared a bastard, Mary's right to the throne definitely superceded hers. If Mary became queen, the Inquisition would follow and pain and misery would fill the wells of power of the Unseleighe Court.
That had been what Vidal originally wanted and he did not need Elizabeth for that . . . And then Pasgen remembered Vidal's passing comment that the FarSeers still envisioned one future in which Elizabeth reigned. That made Pasgen decidedly uneasy. Vidal had not commanded him or Rhoslyn to clarify the Seeing, which was usually diffuse and confused in their absence.
So, what else had Vidal's pallid FarSeers Seen? Pasgen controlling Elizabeth? Was that why Vidal suspected Pasgen of considering rebellion? If Aurilia and Vidal were in the party to take Elizabeth, why did they need him and Rhoslyn? Was this a different kind of trap than the last, intended to bring Oberon's wrath on his head? Was this a death-trap to be sprung by FitzRoy's terrible toy—such healers as the Unseleighe had had not been able to save the Sidhe FitzRoy had wounded.
"Very foresighted of you, my love," Aurilia said, and her glance flicked toward Rhoslyn. "It does so often happen that when many use a Gate, a few get cast out unexpectedly who knows where."
Rhoslyn barely prevented her lips from twitching toward a smile as Aurilia implied she and Pasgen would try to escape with Elizabeth, and Pasgen squeezed her arm in warning. Pasgen was known for his skill with Gates. But was Aurilia's remark a warning to Vidal or a hint to her? Despite her efforts to hide her feelings, it was not unknown that she had mourned FitzRoy's changeling. Was Aurilia hinting that she could have another child, even younger and more attractive than FitzRoy?
If so, she thought, I was right. To steal Elizabeth would certainly bring Vidal hunting her . . . and me. Aurilia would like to be rid of me—I have too much power. But then why does she want Elizabeth here? Because Elizabeth is a child and it will be many years before her potential is reached? And in those years what might happen to her? One of Rhoslyn's hands twitched nervously, but further thoughts were cut off by Vidal, who rose to his feet.
"Yes," he said, "we will not fail this time, but the act will need some foresight. I will send out several spy demons to count the household and make picture memories of those who guard the doors and such."
"Be sure your goblins and bogans do not go near the child," Aurilia warned. "She can see them or sense them . . . I do not know which, but she screams whenever they are anywhere near her. If she does that, it will surely be reported to FitzRoy—once he was actually in the room when it happened and he turned Oberon's mark on the invader, so that it had to flee and lost its memory too. If FitzRoy is warned he will surely set a watch."
Vidal Dhu nodded, and held out a hand to help her from her chair. "For now I only want a report of who watches and when. Over the next two weeks, while Rhoslyn makes ready the changeling, I will remake the face of one of our bound mortals to replace the guard on a side or back door so we will have unchallenged entry. I will also need a replacement for one of the menservants who carries meals and messages and such to the child's apartment."
"You must not kill the mortals you replace." Aurilia offered another warning. "We can put them in Gateways, from where it will be easy enough to retrieve them, and I will give them false memories of a quiet night with no alarms."
"Also," Pasgen offered, "it will be better if the disguised guard is not in place too long. Otherwise he might betray himself. Do we really need another? What if Elizabeth feels the difference in the servant and recoils from him?"
Vidal Dhu had offered his arm to Aurilia and started to turn away, but he looked back over his shoulder, his expression very cold. "That servant is necessary. We need him to take the child and remove the iron cross."
"The iron cross," Rhoslyn said hastily, wishing to remove Vidal Dhu's attention from Pasgen. "We cannot put the cross on my changeling. That would kill it at once, perhaps even dissolve it. But if the changeling is not wearing the cross, the nurse will notice. Elizabeth never goes without it."
"I will make one of blackened silver," Pasgen said. He still did not like the idea of a bespelled mortal coming so near Elizabeth, who was dangerously sensitive, but he also wished he had not awakened more suspicion in Vidal Dhu. "Has anyone seen it close enough to tell me what it looks like?"
"I've felt it—" Rhoslyn shuddered "—but never seen it."
"Never mind." Pasgen waved the problem away. "I will entrap one of the women servants who attends the child's bath. She will know and I can take the description from her mind."
Vidal, scowling, started to take a step, but Aurilia held him back. "Our party, even with free entry to the house, should not be too large. I know you are very strong in magic, my lord, but it would be a great waste of power to try to put the outside servants to sleep as well as the whole household within, and if we were many, one or more of the outside servants might be awake and notice too much coming and going."
Vidal Dhu shrugged. "I will have reports from my spies about who is likely to be where, but there need not be many of us. As you say, the household will be asleep. We need the mortal to carry the child and a Sidhe to carry the changeling. You, me, Pasgen, Rhoslyn, perhaps two more Sidhe as guards—just in case they are more sly than we expect and have some magical protection in the child's nursery."
Pasgen nodded slowly and bowed as Vidal and Aurilia left the room. He felt that this foray would be successful. He had tried stealth and trickery and both had failed. Likely sheer force would be successful. He hated that the success would be Vidal Dhu's, but they had to remove all possibility of the red-haired child coming to the throne, and it was only good sense to get her young enough to train up in their ways.
FitzRoy had retreated from the scaffold as soon as the executioner's sword fell. He had wanted to slip away sooner; he had not wanted to see Anne die, but he had not been able to move, not even to close his eyes. When her head fell, blood gushing from the truncated neck, however, he wrenched himself backward, almost falling down the steps. Ladbroke, who had taken bold advantage of being servant to the first duke in the realm, had pushed his way to the very front and now held FitzRoy's horse and his own at the base of the steps.
He caught his blind and shaking master, and gave him a leg up into the saddle. Seeing FitzRoy seated and trusting his horsemanship, even disordered as he was, Ladbroke slapped the horse on the rump and flung himself into his own saddle. Judicious use of his crop and his heels permitted him to come around in front of FitzRoy's horse, which was being given no direction. The crowd, mostly still staring at the scaffold, was forced by Ladbroke to make way for the horses, a few crying imprecations or growling curses.
FitzRoy was stonily unaware of anything beyond the turmoil in his guts, fed and renewed by the horror in his mind. When they reached Baynard's castle, he gave up the battle and was violently sick—although he had eaten nothing that morning. He brought up the wine he had drunk, but even long after he was empty he could not stop retching until Dunstan hurried to him and forced a small cup upon him.
"Drink," he ordered so forcefully that FitzRoy tried.
Fire seared his mouth, his throat, and his belly. He gasped, eyes bulging, hardly able to breathe.
"Drink," Dunstan insisted again.
Still gasping, FitzRoy emptied the cup. The conflagration in his insides was renewed, but the sickness was gone. From his belly, but not from his mind. Tears ran down his face and he sobbed uncontrollably. He had not really liked Anne much—she was too self-centered, too selfish—but she had been so vital, so alive, one could not be dull in her presence. And now she was gone—never to laugh again, never again to utter another pointed, witty remark—just gone. He closed his eyes and shuddered.
"That's enough, Your Grace," Dunstan said. "We have to be going. Lord Denno's alone at Hatfield. He's a good man, but there's not enough of him to really protect the princess."
"Lady Elizabeth," FitzRoy said. "We must remember to call her Lady Elizabeth. It would be unwise to be overheard denying the king's declaration of her illegitimacy." Tears ran down his face again and he dashed them away angrily. "Yes, we must go at once. I swore to her mother—" his voice broke and he cleared his throat "—I swore I would care for and protect Elizabeth as long as we both lived."
He turned toward his horse as his four guardsmen emerged from the stables. Tolliver followed leading several packhorses.
"Packhorses?" FitzRoy said. "But—"
"I told the steward, Your Grace, that we were going to visit Lord Denno in his house near Windsor for which, presumably, you would need a full wardrobe. Fortunately Sir Edward is still . . . at the Tower."
"Windsor?" FitzRoy repeated stupidly. "Does Denno have a house near Windsor?"
"I doubt it," Dunstan said, coming closer on the pretext of adjusting an article of FitzRoy's clothing. He lowered his voice to a murmur that would not carry beyond FitzRoy's ear. "But you did tell me, Your Grace, that you did not wish it widely known that you intended to be with the pr—with Lady Elizabeth for a time."
The valet stepped back, plucking an imaginary thread from FitzRoy's doublet, and FitzRoy said, "Yes, of course, Dunstan, thank you. I—I am not quite myself."
"It is to your credit, Your Grace." Dunstan's words seemed to squeeze unwillingly through tight lips.
It was a long, silent ride to the merchant's house in the village of Hatfield that FitzRoy had taken over. Now and then he wept again, not so much now for Anne as for his image of his father. It could not be the same between them. FitzRoy knew the charges against Anne were false; that the evidence was ridiculous, particularly that against her brother George. Either his father had deceived himself or he, too, knew Anne was innocent. No, he could never feel the same.
Arrival at the merchant's house he had bought in the village of Hatfield provided a distraction. He looked at the comfortable brick building with relief, remembering how Denno had approached the man secretly and had offered him a small fortune if he would leave quietly and go to London. There, he promised he would be set up in business anew, which Denno's man of business arranged.
Meanwhile a cousin of Denno's man of business took over the merchant's work, claiming to be the merchant's cousin. The village accepted him. They had all known that the merchant was very successful and it was no surprise to them that he had moved on to a larger town and greater things.
For FitzRoy there were many benefits to living in the house of a busy merchant. No one was surprised to see men-at-arms lounging around—a merchant had to protect his goods—or to see well-dressed people coming and going, even at odd hours. There was a private lane from the edge of the village to the large yard behind the merchant's house. It had been built to keep the merchant's wagons from damaging the road to the palace; now it served to let FitzRoy come and go in secret. There were storage buildings behind the house and a good-sized stable, large enough to take wagons . . . large enough to house a whole troop of soldiers, if they ever became necessary.
Denno was waiting at the back door; when it closed, he folded FitzRoy into his arms as if the young man was a child again. "Sorry," he whispered. "I am so sorry. We were not vigilant enough. If we had removed the dog . . ."
FitzRoy rested quietly in Denoriel's arms for a while, then freed himself and sighed. "It did not matter, Denno. If she could not bear the king a living son, sooner or later it would have come to this. The king would not again have a living wife while he married anew." Tears filled FitzRoy's eyes again for the loss of a father he had loved, and he angrily wiped them away with the heel of his hand. "No, I will not think about it. I must live, at least for a few years more, with my father, until I can induce him to send me abroad. What is more important now is Elizabeth. In how much danger is she? She will never be queen now."
"Do not be so sure of that," Denoriel replied as they walked into the house from the back, passing the kitchen and a small dining parlor before they entered the merchant's own withdrawing room. "Aleneil Saw many futures and in only one of them did the queen die. There are fewer futures now, all horrible except one—one in which a red-haired queen sits on the throne of England."
"But how could she possibly come to the throne?" FitzRoy stood before the fire, nervously clasping and unclasping his hands.
Denoriel sat down in a high-backed chair and shook his head. "Beyond much sorrow and suffering, hers and that of the people, but it is not as queen that the Unseleighe want her. Indeed, they would delight in every future except that one. They want her to grow up desiring mortal fear and pain and to tell them how to use the increased power that fear and pain would provide them to dominate many other domains—perhaps even Elfhame Logres and Elfhame Avalon."
The more Denno said, the more Harry's gut knotted; bad enough to discover what a monster his father could be, but to think of that dear, naughty babe stolen and educated to be a thousand times worse—FitzRoy shook his head violently in denial. "No!" he shouted, so that Denoriel started.
"No," he said more quietly. "I will not let that happen."
Denoriel pulled on his lower lip. "If she rules this realm, she will weave so skillfully among the other nations that England will be very great. If she uses that skill for the purposes of the Unseleighe . . ."
"They must not have her. But how can I protect her?" he asked, desperately, feeling his head begin to ache. "And for how long?"
"To the first, I agree. I would not like Vidal Dhu for a master. How to protect her?" Denoriel uttered a mirthless chuckle. "Carefully. And for how long? Ah, there is the worst problem of all. Perhaps for years, until she is seated on the throne."
He groaned, seeing his own freedom slipping away. "Then I would not be able to leave England. I promised Anne I would protect Elizabeth and care for her as long as I lived." But better that than the alternative—
"Time changes all things, even Seeings," Denoriel reminded him. "Actually the worst danger is now, while she is little more than an infant, while Vidal and Aurilia believe they can warp her heart and mind to accept the misery of mortals as a good. And again, I think they will strike very, very soon, while her household is in turmoil and a different person does a different thing every day. This is when it is least likely that a changeling will be noticed—"
"But surely Blanche would know," FitzRoy interrupted.
Denoriel put a finger across his lips. "Not so much freedom with her name."
He glanced over his shoulder at the door behind him. "Can there be a watcher?"
Denno nodded his head. "Not in this house, but somewhere not far . . . perhaps at the palace . . . something is listening, and I do not know how long its ears are."
FitzRoy closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "I will go to the palace now."
"Not tonight." Denoriel shook his head. "Everyone is too wakeful, too frightened, too full of grief that they cannot show. They dare not talk of what happened this day but they cannot think of anything else. Unfortunately it is likely that Vidal knew when the queen would die so they could already have prepared a changeling; however, it is very hard to keep alive the constructs made in the likeness of mortal flesh. Thus, they may have begun that work only now, when the fact of Elizabeth's disgrace and Anne's death is certain. At least tonight we will be able to sleep in peace."
The next day FitzRoy went to the palace and provided a diversion for Elizabeth, who was well aware that something was very wrong but did not know what and was, as a result, fretful. Two days later, Lady Bryan rode to London to try to discover what provision was being made for the dead queen's daughter. FitzRoy went to sleep in a side chamber near Elizabeth's apartment with an air spirit nestled by his side. But he did not need it; nothing happened.
By the end of the week Aleneil rode in. She was pale and tired and merely shook her head at the men who greeted her. "Nothing," she said. "The same images over and over—a boy child, and a harsh and dour rule, but not the disaster of the Inquisition, at least, not immediately. No image of Elfhame Logres, no joy, no music or wonderful performances. That is one. Another you know, it shows the fires of the Inquisition and two on the throne, a sad, dark-haired woman, much swollen in the belly and a thin, fair, pallid-faced man with a small, pursed red mouth."
"The image of the red-haired ruler is gone?" FitzRoy asked anxiously.
"No. That also is as it was, but there was one new thing. In the second image—that of the two rulers—distantly behind those on the throne is the red-haired woman, but not as a ruler. There is a threat over her."
There was a brief silence while Denoriel and FitzRoy considered what that might mean, then FitzRoy reverted to their present problem.
"But no hint of any attack on Elizabeth?"
Aleneil shook her head. "Nothing. No image of the child at all."
"As if she did not exist?" Denoriel asked, his voice higher than usual.
Aleneil looked stricken. If the child had been abducted and was being held in a shielded domain to prevent any attempt at rescue, she might not be revealed at all with an attempt to scry her or FarSee about her.
"No," she said finally, her voice somewhat uncertain. "More as if I were asking the wrong questions."
But if those were the wrong questions, no one could think of the right ones.
The tension in the merchant's house increased, but nothing seemed to happen. At least Lady Bryan still had not returned from London, so FitzRoy and the air spirit could spend most of every day with Elizabeth and every night in the small side room. Mercifully the weather was terrible—sometimes FitzRoy thought the heavens wept for the bright spirit gone from the earth—but at least it kept Elizabeth indoors and eliminated any fear of being attacked by a large party.
Another week shuffled by on leaden feet. Denoriel was beginning to question his assumptions about what the Unseleighe would do when, on Friday afternoon, Blanche Parry crept into the merchant's house by the back door, calling silently for help.
They heard that "call" long before Blanche reached the door, and their state of heightened alert sent a surge of energy into all of them. Both Aleneil and Denoriel rushed into the kitchen to meet her and draw her into a quiet corner.
"I cannot stay," she said. "I have sent him away on an errand, but I do not know how long it will keep him."
"Who?" Denoriel asked; he knew most of those who served Elizabeth.
"Jack Chandler," Blanche replied, her face pale with anxiety. "The serving-man attached to the pr-Lady Elizabeth's apartment. There is something wrong with him."
"A changeling?" Aleneil suggested.
Blanche shook her head. "No. No. I'm sure I'd feel that. The man's mortal enough but he . . . he doesn't act like Jack."
"Harry is there?" Denoriel asked.
"Oh, yes, with the—the whatever it is that lingers by him—it worried me at first, but Elizabeth loves it. She laughs and laughs and tries to catch it in her hands, so I am sure it is a good thing. If His Grace were not there I would not have dared leave." She took a shuddering breath. "He can keep Jack away from milady with his sword, but he has no magic. I must go back. And I fear—"
"Yes, you fear rightly," Denoriel told her. "Go back, and tell him tonight may be the time. I will send over Ladbroke and Dunstan and he is somehow to keep them with him. Aleneil and I will come soon. We will wait for him in the little chamber in which he has been sleeping."
The maid nodded and darted out.
"You think they will make an attempt on Elizabeth tonight?" Aleneil asked.
"Or tomorrow," Denoriel replied, with an inner stab of certainty that made him want to run for Hatfield that very moment. "I doubt Vidal would expose his servant for longer than he must. He would fear exactly what did happen, that someone would notice something unnatural about the substitute. Only we are lucky to have Blanche who knows we will listen to her. Most others, even if they noticed something strange, would hold their tongues at first, assuming that the man did not feel well or was troubled about something."
"There may be others in the house that no one has noticed," Aleneil said, slowly.
Denoriel nodded. "I will tell Dunstan and Ladbroke to go separately and as inconspicuously as possible and then find a place to hide. You and I will come in with a delivery wearing the Don't-see-me spell. Nyle and Gerrit are already on the premises, hopefully keeping watch on Harry."
"We will have to get them into Harry's room one at a time so I can renew the amulet that guards against sleep spells." Aleneil bit her lip. "Is there anything we can do to shield them? If not, they will be useless. I am sure Pasgen is perfectly capable of bespelling them into freezing or Dannae knows what else."
"I have shields on them already, have had for years," he said with grim pleasure. "I will strengthen them and my own to the fullest I can."
The plan worked with remarkable ease. Denoriel would have been more uncomfortable and suspicious than he was already, if the guard at the back door had not come alert as he and Aleneil sidled past the small two-wheel cart a farmer's boy was pushing into the scullery. The guard looked hard at the boy and the cart and right and left of the cart—by then it was too late—Aleneil and Denoriel were inside. He even looked behind himself in their direction, but his eyes would not fix on them.
So at least one of the guards was safe.
Through the kitchen into a wide back corridor where servants carrying trays could pass in safety, through a wide door into the front entryway. The guard there did not notice them at all, and they mounted the stairs, careful to tread near the wall so they would not creak. Equally carefully along the upper corridor to the door of the room FitzRoy had described. Safe inside the chamber, Denoriel dropped the Don't-see-me spell. He knew he would have many drains on his power that night.
Then they waited. For what, they did not know.
Only that, whatever it was—the fate of Seleighe realms and mortal depended on their success.